The Symptom Of Another Night
by EchidnaHazard
Summary: Another night, and Nny is sick of the renewed silence. And so he plans to end it all for good.


Loneliness greets me with all the familiarity of a lover's embrace. I wander the halls of my house, searching in a mindless circle of futility for a meaning to life.  
  
What puzzles me most is that I, one of the few superior minds, can't fathom why I'm here, what my purpose for being is. Oh, I used to have a cause, used to have several, in fact.  
  
My first was to destroy all the inferior, all the world's trash. Those who had slighted me in the past, and those who would slight me in the future. After a little while I realized I wouldn't, that I couldn't, succeed. The world was too big, the filth too deep for a single entity to clean it all away.  
  
And as the truth of that came upon me, so did another. I visited the realms of Heaven and Hell, though I can find few to believe me, and though it might have been simply a dream, it stopped me cold as to what my real meaning was. I realized for once that I might not have a meaning, that I might simply be one little cog in the turnings of a giant, cruel machine, just a single cell in a heartless body. Worse yet, that I might be...replaceable.  
  
Thus, I turned my cause inward, to the problem within. I vowed to myself that I would become as cold as that machine, as efficient and unfeeling as a cockroach, to save myself the pain of the world around me.  
  
And my friends, twisted as they were...no longer existed. The three of them simply ceased to talk, to move, to offer me advice, solace or threats.  
  
I was set adrift, alone. What need had I for company, anyway? Friends betray. Always.  
  
These words I used to comfort myself with now hold no meaning, just like my life, my existence... trapped forever in a web of total meaninglessness. The worst type of existence. I separated myself from everything and everyone, I hardly recognized myself for what I was, and what I am.  
  
Earlier I mentioned inferiority. This, at least, is familiar ground to me, something I'm willing to speak of. You see, the world is filled with the worst type of trash, that is, the species of human.  
  
Consider, if you will. An animal so self-centered and foolish that they will spend all their lives accumulating wealth, living poor so that they can die rich. It's all like a game, a group delusion. And they go out and spend this money on themselves, to buy candy and clothes and accessories- useless amusements. They're not much to look at really, all the same inside, and they get their kicks, they satisfy their meager minds by tormenting people such as I.  
  
They are so shallow and foolish that they don't recognize how degrading affects the victim. Well, I, for one, made it my mission to slay each and every one of them. To really drum the lessons in and show them how the worm can turn. Give them a chance to see how their pretty faces and fat wallets do nothing for them when they're locked and caged, when their amusement rears up with poison fangs and lashes back at them. I weather the brunt of their taunting, separate the predators from the prey, and I remove them in the most brutal manner possible.  
  
They are a cancer and I am the cure. And surely someone must agree, for I haven't been caught yet, despite the fact that I've tried to slay myself time and time again in the deepest throes of my misery.  
  
Ah, and to see how these inferior cretins waste the flesh given to them, waste the precious minds. I pity the insane, how terrible it must be for them to not see as clearly as I do. It's only slightly harder to kill the ones who haven't hurt me, the ones who are nearby. They are, or soon will be, corrupted, as a single drop of poison can spoil a barrel of water.  
  
How they scream when blades rip into them, and what a lovely sound their flesh makes as it surrenders to the sharpened edges, tearing back to reveal organs and blood and bone. Truly heaven.  
  
But it is nothing now. The silence in the room has begun to drive me down into despair once more. Who will mourn my passing, I must wonder, who will cry for Johnny when he's gone?  
  
The answer to that, perhaps, is no one. My purpose in life to be used by others is winding to a close. I won't take their abuse much longer, I know I'm close to breaking. I can almost hear it, like a dry twig supporting too much snow, and with every extra flake, the branch buckles further.  
  
How lovely it must be, to be an animal, and unaware of the corruption. Without having to search for a purpose, without caring for a reason for existence.  
  
Well, there's too much poison in the barrel for me.  
  
I've suffered more than my fair share. Any just god can grant me this, this final sleep, a last embrace.  
  
The gun feels cold and smooth in my hand; it weighs against my palm with the heaviness of responsibility. The muzzle presses up against my head, freezing. I wait, stopped still in this frame of time, teetering on the razor's edge between blissful, subzero darkness and the burning inferno of hell that is life.  
  
I wish I could say I know what I'm waiting for, but I can't, as a thousand thoughts flit through my head. No more pain or suffering, no more. I've tried this before, of course, several times.  
  
The infection, the disease of humanity... it's affected me in a way I could never have grasped. And now I can't think past the need to sleep forever.  
  
"Scary neighbor man...?" a small voice comes.  
  
I whip around, startled, and drop the gun to the floor. It doesn't go off, a mercy in itself, and I gaze down at the boy named Squee, who clutches his teddy as if afraid of retribution on my part.  
  
"Uh." He fidgets, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. But mommy and daddy went to a party and left me home alone, and I keep hearing these noises from the attic. Shmee says it's rats, and that would be okay. Only he thinks they're big rats with radiation, bigger than my dresser, and they could eat me."  
  
I stare agape at him, shocked out of my trance, hearing his words pass over me as though I'm distant, underwater...or buried.  
  
"So I was wondering if you could come with me and see the rats. Because Shmee thinks you could kill them. He says if you could kill people and stuff like you do, then you could kill nuclear rats."  
  
"Sure, Squee." I say, the suicidal mood disappearing like a bad dream. Somehow being needed is so important right now, I latch onto it with the desperation of a drowning man, and I reach down for the gun, pocketing it absently. My backpack bulges with all sorts of weapons, more than enough to deal with Squee's unwanted pets, I'd imagine. "Show me to the killer-rats, then." 


End file.
